


Falling, in Love and Elsewhere

by misreall



Series: Loki And Nora's Infinity Stone Playlist [31]
Category: Loki: Agent of Asgard, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Cookies, F/F, Kissing, Love, Older Woman, Sex, Sorrow, Space Opera, godhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29075841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misreall/pseuds/misreall
Summary: Loki and Nora have different fears together
Relationships: Lok - Relationship, Loki (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Loki And Nora's Infinity Stone Playlist [31]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/520786
Comments: 38
Kudos: 54





	Falling, in Love and Elsewhere

  
  


Nora remembered she was married to a god.

Just not very often.

Armies chasing them for having redistributed the wealth of a planet's totalitarian leader would find that their weapons turned into boa constrictors that slowly devoured them. 

A mountain that was blocking a perfect sunset would turn to crystal long enough for them to enjoy the gloaming. 

While seeing the Sphynx, every Saharan horned viper in the vicinity came sidewinding across the sands to greet Loki. The rest of the tour members and the guide would never be the same.

Even when on a planet Loki swore he had never been to, they found a temple to him, filled with worshippers making offerings to a naked, shameless, and perfectly accurate statue of him. “I mean, I have been to a lot of places,” he said, shrugging, taking a black apple from a basket of rare fruits that one of the faithful was about to lay on the altar,

When they raised their head to yell at him, Loki took a big bite. “Delicious,” he said with a distracted smile, lightly patting them on the head.

They passed out.

None of this reminded her of his godliness, even if it cemented his Lokiness.

But then something would happen and she would remember and feel … diminished. There was nothing to be done about it. She  _ was _ less than he was, and that was that. 

It was nothing Loki did, and knowing how upset he would be at the idea of her feeling that way Nora made certain he never knew, knowing she was tough enough to take a few buffets to her ego now and then.

And it didn’t happen often.

“Lok-”

Nora walked into nothing. With some force.

Fortunately, her hands had been in front of her, holding two mugs and a plate of cookies, so she didn’t end up breaking her nose, though the coffee and the Nan-e gerdui she had been carrying were now everywhere. 

Reaching out she touched what appeared to be the open door to the docking bay of Loki’s beloved and her mostly tolerated ship the  _ Naglikjóll _ . Though it was invisible outside of the streaks of coffee and smooshed walnut cookies there was a barrier. It was clearer than glass, the temperature of it was no different than the surrounding air, and she couldn’t even get a texture off of it. 

Yet there it was. Apparently.

They were supposed to have a snack together in her library, but while she had been in the galley with Charles, Loki had probably gotten bored like he always did and wandered off to find something to entertain himself with.

When the ship had grudgingly told her that Loki was in the docking bay Nora had assumed he was tinkering with the smaller ship they had stolen from Sakaar. Which meant he had taken it apart and couldn’t quite figure out how to get it back together again like it was before and so was taking the opportunity to ‘improve’ it. 

He wasn’t.

Loki had opened the bay doors and was sitting naked, leaning forward on one knee, on the edge while it seemed like his other leg must be dangling off the side of the ship. His hair was like a cloud of black, eddying like it was in water around his head so Nora could see each perfect muscle in his back, the graceful effortlessness with which he held himself from being pulled out into the void. Though she couldn’t see his face she knew the lines and angles of him and the way his shoulders moved and body shook with joy well enough to be certain he was laughing, the big, toothy, exhilarated laugh he had when a risky plan paid off or an especially unlikely lie had been believed. 

Though his skin was pale, the faint scrolls of his Jotun caste lines traced over him, the blue of twilight reflected on snow.

To say he was beautiful was both a painful understatement as well as beside the point of everything about him at that moment. Though true.

Beyond him the nihility of space, bedecked with swirls of stars so far away that they looked like handsful of silvery sand that had been tossed onto a sheet of black velvet was so vast, with no up, no down, no way to orient, as if it were calling her to be lost within it, so that even behind the safety of the barrier Loki had put up to protect the rest of the ship Nora felt dizzy, small, and a little sick.

Closing her eyes, Nora pressed her forehead to the nothing for a moment. 

The chaotic, mad universe was laid out before him, and Loki basked in its untamable insanity, bathing his skin in starlight and cold.

Because he was a god.

She opened her eyes.

Loki stood, spreading his arms and legs wide and even though the pull of space yanked the sound away she could hear him laughing. The primal Trickster in him greeting the primal chaos of all things.

Because he was a god.

Gathering the mugs and what she could of the cookies, she retreated, leaving him to revel in privacy.

“Did you save me any cookies?” Loki asked.

Nora nodded, not looking up from her book, motioning to the side table where she had safely put the second round of cookies and coffee after calming down. 

“Coffee’s probably cold by now.”

“Never fear,” he said, and she looked over the top of the book as he lifted a mug that was steaming by the time it reached his lips. He smiled around the sip he took.

Nora closed her book, stood, and wrapped her arms about his lean waist, leaning on him, letting him take her full weight as she rubbed her face against his velvet tunic. “What is this?” Loki asked with a faint laugh, putting an arm about her, then the other after he carefully put down his coffee. “I was hardly gone that long.”

Looking up, so her chin rested on his chest, she disagreed, “Oh, you were gone forever.”

“Then allow me to make amends, treasure,” he answered, his voice going deeper, more sonorous. Cupping her chin, he bent to kiss her.

Though his thin, clever lips were tender, the kiss was insistent, firm, and needy. Quickly losing himself in it, Loki spread his legs and tangled one hand in her short hair and held the back of her neck so he could take her mouth in gasps and licks and whispers of what he was going to do to her. How he was going to pleasure her, how she would moan and how he would serve her as both willing slave and firm master.

Nora hung onto his arms, standing on her toes, daring him to do his worst in the way she pushed into his body, took his lower lip in her teeth, said his name, laughed at what he said and rubbed her face against his neck and chin and hair.

Every couch, chair, table, desk, and banister in any place they lived had been designed to stand up to any amount of vigorous fucking on or against them, because Loki had said he refused to ever let the slightest fear of catastrophic furniture failure derail Nora’s enthusiasm, so when he lifted her on to what only looked like a delicate tea cart, she was unafraid.

She wrapped her legs around his thighs, tight enough for her muscles to sting, while he pulled her shirt off, careful, since it was old and much beloved, and then snapped his fingers to make her bra disappear. “Your breasts are glorious,” he smiled.

“And now they’re cold,” Nora lied.

“Bor forbid,” Loki declaimed, kneeling so he could warm them with his mouth, taking off his tunic so that more of them could touch.

There was nowhere on her that he did not lavish with attention and praise, stroking tenderly, pinching to get her attention, then kissing the places he had hurt, and giving small hurts to other spots so he might kiss them as well.

No, she wanted to worship him. She needed to. Had to. After how she had seen him it was the only possible thing.

Shoving him back onto the floor, she crawled up his body, unlacing his trews, stroking bones of his hips, licking his navel, nuzzling the thin line of hair from it to his penis before crawling the rest of the way up to cage him with her body the way he liked to do with her.

Nora bit. She loved biting him, and Loki writhed under her teeth as she stroked his cock, running her thumb in circles over its thick head, through the silky wet that leaked from it, telling him how beautiful he was, how she had loved him before she knew who he was, before she knew his body and his face were divine, and that he had been beautiful to her even when he was hiding his glory in the body of a homely mortal.

Pushing down her leggings with practiced ease, she watched her god, his jaw set, his eyes glossy with lust, as she sunk slowly onto his long, thick cock, until she was flush with him, until she could ride. 

Until he was arching and begging beneath her, even as she lost herself in the slow rhythm of fucking him.

They had been together for so long, for her so long, that there was little they did not know about extending and stretching and making an afternoon of love into eternity. Until there was nothing left of either of them but the places where they held each other, gasping for breath, soaked, still kissing softly because they couldn’t stop.

And then there were cookies.

Loki tried to forget that he was married to a mortal.

Not because he did not take great care for Nora’s fragility.  _ That _ was never far from his mind.

One night, not long after they had become lovers, he had draped an arm over her in his sleep, and in the morning he had seen a line of bruises on her waist and ribs. Snorting, she turned from side to side looking at them in the bathroom mirror. “You’re so heavy for such a skinny bastard,” she had said, swatting him on the ass as she slid past him to reach the pastry tray Charles had placed on the table before Loki could get to them. 

He had not slept for the next three nights, laying awake from both fear and a need to figure out a spell to ensure he would not accidentally crush her in his sleep.

That she could not remain awake for three full days with him, when Loki’s mind was a-fire with ideas and plots meant he took notes of his thoughts so he could share them with her the next day and the next and the next. 

That she could not go without food for long without suffering, that she could not do without moisture for as little as three days without dying, that the cold of his Jotnar skin would easily burn her flesh, stop her lungs, and freeze her heart into a pretty, intricate piece of marble, that going too close to the sun would turn her into vapor and ash, that even too much oxygen would poison her were all facts never far from his mind.

Loki had learned all the names of every virus, bacteria, allergen, and toxin that might cause Nora harm and made each his personal enemy. 

That she was delicate, that he could tolerate, perhaps even as a joy, for to cossette and care for her was a great delight for him though Nora most of the time was only putting up with it for her love of him.

Which made it a further delight.

But her mortality ... the fact that the natural end of her was so very close from the first moment they met, that death was travelling - fast and vicious as a bird of prey - towards Nora on an unstoppable path, Loki refused to subject himself to. 

Yet there were moments where his denial of iron was forced to face the truth.

They were aboard their  _ Naglikjóll,  _ sitting on one of the tiers of Nora’s lavish library reading together, settled into one of the velvet couches with their legs tangled together - the length of Loki’s legs meaning that was not especially optional. 

After an hour or so, Nora put down her book and stretched, the old band t-shirt she wore riding up enough to capture his attention. “I’m hungry,” she said, “snack?”

Starting to say that he was hungry for something else, Loki looked at the hand she used to pull her shirt down and stopped and nodded. “Yes, I could eat something.”

Rolling her eyes whilst kissing his cheek, she said, “You could always eat something. I think Charles was baking today,” before heading down the spiral staircase in search of cookies. 

Holding his book very still, Loki tried not to think about what he had seen, but when he heard her irritably asking the ship to open the door to let her out of the library his mind, as was its wont, betrayed him.

Her hand - her pretty, agile, musician’s hand - had a tremor in it. 

The slightest tremor. One so slight and brief that Nora herself would probably not have noticed it, probably had not realized that she had winced slightly as well. Loki recalled her telling him about her Aunt Claire’s arthritis, and how her hands shook and hurt so much as she aged that over time she couldn’t play the piano, slice an onion, or even lace a shoe by the time she died. 

Unbidden, he knew that Claire had been only twenty years older than Nora was now. When she died.

The skin on Nora’s hand was … thinner, too.

Suddenly Loki was boiling alive in his own skin, his elegant clothing felt like it had tightened and twisted and was suffocating him.

Not bothering with the stairs, Loki lept from the tier, running around the shelves and comfortable furnishings of the lower level, not entirely registering when he struck something with his shoulder, sending a bookcase to the floor, its contents flying everywhere.

_ Naglikjóll,  _ always knowing his needs, opened doors before him without being asked, all of the way to the docking bay.

“Open bay doors,” he growled, barely remembering to throw a barrier up to keep the air from being sucked out of the rest of the ship. 

Falling to his knees before the slowly opening doors, Loki’s chest heaved as he tried to hold in the sounds that wanted to boil out of his chest, keeping them in place until the silent, cold of space opened and he could howl and howl with no fear of being heard even by himself.

Nothing terrified Loki more than the vastness of space. The idea of falling into its emptiness. Yet he longed for it - its endless majesty and his terror - to obliterate him for a few moments. To give him the peace of fear.

But his fear failed him.

Even the void was not enough to make him feel free. He was still choking, still burning. Stripping, sitting on the edge of nothingness, the sobs now freely wracked him.

Each movement, standing, wiping his face, the drops of his tears, was lazy in the atmosphere-less bay. Spreading his arms, letting the cold wrap up, Loki tried to calm himself.

“Stop it,” he ordered himself silently. “Stop. Please.”

Nothing helped, and he knew that even he could not do without air much longer. 

Then, “She’s waiting for you. Do you want to have her worry? Wonder what is wrong?”

Nodding, once, then twice, the last tears drifted out into space, and he forced himself to laugh at how difficult it was to dress under such conditions. When he was done, he walked through the thick thinness of no air to hit the emergency switch to close the hatch doors.

Gravity settled his boots more firmly on the metal floor, and with a nod, he flicked a finger towards his hair to settle it into perfection and turned on his heel to return to Nora.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
